


Does Anyone Ever Get This Right

by LuminousCorruption



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: Ben has terrible taste in men, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, or 4 times Ben chose the wrong person and one time he chose the right one, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousCorruption/pseuds/LuminousCorruption
Summary: “I’m seeing someone,” Ben says, with flushed cheeks and a small smile at his shoes, and Mike worries.
Relationships: Ben Ebbrell/Mike Huttlestone, Ben Ebbrell/Original Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111





	Does Anyone Ever Get This Right

“I’m seeing someone,” Ben says, with flushed cheeks and a small smile at his shoes, and Mike _worries_.

The thing is, right, that Ben has absolutely shocking taste in partners. When Ben complains with about eighty-seven percent good-natured humour and thirteen percent actual bitter longing about still being single, Mike inevitably heaves a secret sigh of relief because Ben has not once, in thirty years on God’s Green Earth, ever, _ever_ dated someone who was actually good for him.

Ben goes on dates, and Mike stresses about it. It’s how these things go.

* * *

The first time the name Ben Ebbrell sticks in his brain, they’re thirteen and it’s because there’s a rumour going ‘round that Rebecca Burrows from the year above (fifteen, long brown hair, _great_ tits) said she’d meet Ben Ebbrell at the cinema that Saturday and never showed up. By lunch time, the gossip has expanded in the way that school gossip does, through embellished narration and adolescent cruelty, to include Ben being convinced she would show all through the first half of the movie, and too self-concious to walk out in front of the rest of the cinema, all by himself, for the second.

“Sitting in a movie alone- fucking sad, innit?” Opines Jez, raconteur of the Year Nines, to a murmur of pitying agreement and laughter. “And as if he thought he was even in her league.” More cackling follows that statement and Mike thinks right, fuck this, and goes to find Ben Ebbrell.

He’s in the library, and in time Mike will come to realise that’s not because he was hiding, but because that’s just where he spends his breaks, but at that moment he can’t blame Ben for wanting away from the piteous stares and mocking laughter.

Ben Ebbrell at thirteen is short, and his glasses are thick and heavy square frames. His school jumper is folded over at the cuff to let him use his hands, and Mike sympathises because he too has a mother who insists “you’ll grow into it.” It has the effect of making Ben look even smaller and younger than thirteen, however, especially with a round face and soft jaw.

“Hi.” He sits down opposite Ben Ebbrell and watches him startle, whipping his head up from the pages of a maths book (ugh, maths) to stare at Mike.

“Hi,” he says back. His voice is high pitched and slightly nasal, and Mike isn’t the sort to make judgments on first meeting but he really, really doesn’t seem like he’d have a hope in hell with any girl, let alone a bloody fit one from the year above.

“Did you really get ditched on a date with Rebecca Burrows?” Mike asks, because he sees no reason not to get to the point but also because he takes a slightly perverse pleasure in making things awkward. It can be funny, sue him.

He expects denial, but instead Ben Ebbrell _smiles_. It’s a wry, half quirk at the corner of his mouth with a raised eyebrow, and suddenly he looks more like an actual thirteen year old.

“She said she’d go on a date with me if I did her chemistry coursework.” He shrugs half-heartedly, as if to say ‘what can you do’.

“What,” Mike says, his brain turning that statement over, “she asked you for help with GCSE coursework? We haven’t even done that yet.” Ben shrugs again, and says nothing. Ben Ebbrell isn’t in his form group, but if he thinks hard enough, Mike can recall him flowing out of classrooms with the others for top sets in- just about most subjects. Ben must be smart. Huh.

“Why didn’t you go when she didn’t show?” He asks, prodding his luck a bit further, because it seems to have worked so far. For the first time, however, Ben looks affronted. He draws himself up a little bit taller and his voice is clipped, tone arched.

“I’d already paid for the ticket. I wasn’t going to waste it just because I was by myself. Besides, ‘ _Chocolat_ ’ has really good reviews.” Ben Ebbrell, Mike realises, is more offended by the implication that he should’ve wasted a ticket and walked than being asked questions by a virtual stranger about being ditched.

“I’m Mike,” Mike says, decisively, stretching his hand across the fake-wood laminate of the library desk. Ben is _interesting_.

“I know,” Ben says, reaching out to shake. His hand is small but he has a strong grip, and when he smiles properly his whole face changes. “Everyone knows. You tried to stop a car with your skull. I’m Ben.”

* * *

Ben is seventeen, and it’s Easter break, and Mike, Jamie and Barry who are already eighteen have brought several six packs of beer and a few cheap bottles of wine with their pooled money and not-fake IDs. They’re drinking at Barry’s, because his parents have a wonderfully European view on the whole thing, and see nothing wrong with their newly of-age son and three of his mates getting slowly sozzled in their back garden on an uncharacteristically sunny Saturday in April.

Ben is putting in a rare appearance. Since turning sixteen he’s been working in pub kitchens whenever they’ll schedule him for a shift, and usually that’s over the weekend. The busy holiday schedule and child labour laws have conflated, however, and Ben shrugs when he tells them that he’s put in so many extra hours already this week that they can’t legally have him on the rota today. “It’ll be different after my birthday in June.”

Ben hasn’t exactly become cool, over the last year, but he has a composure and a drive that’s impossible not to respect, and he’s gained some measure of admiration in their peer group by being the only one to not only know whole-heartedly what he wants to do as a career, but take actual steps to achieve it. Ben is going to be A Chef, and he’s working in kitchens for experience with an unconditional offer from UCB off the strength of his predicted grades alone. It’s so mature and adult that the rest are slightly in awe, slightly intimidated.

This is only added to by the fact that there’s a rumour going ‘round that Ben told Mrs Harper, the Chem teacher nobody likes, to fuck off.

“I didn’t say that!” Ben insists, fruitlessly, as Baz gives him a congratulatory whack between the shoulder blades. “I just said that trying to dissuade me from my chosen profession is a waste of her time _and_ mine so she might as well stop trying.”

Alright, so maybe he didn’t tell her to fuck off, but according to Miriam Cooper who also takes A-Level Chem, he said it with such cold distain that he might as well have.

(“And really,” Miriam had told them over lunch in the local coffee shop, “she was being a real bitch about Ben going to study catering. _‘You’re wasting your talent, Mr Ebbrell, and this dream of becoming a chef won’t amount to anything.’_ Bitter old twat.”)

About four beers in, when Baz is already giggly and slurring a little, the conversation turns to sex.

Jamie’s as vague as ever, and proclaims in grand fashion that a gentleman never kisses and tells, although he swiftly undercuts that with a filthy grin and the aside that Lucy gives bloody good head.

“I’m gonna tell her you said that,” jeers Baz, only to be met with a raised eyebrow from Jamie.

“Mate, if you think she hasn’t already told all her girlfriends exactly how big my willy is and all the details of our first time, you’re completely mistaken. Girls _talk_.”

Barry always has something to say, and a few drinks down the nod towards restraint that might otherwise be present goes completely out the window. He’s been seeing Alice Bevan from the lower sixth (tall, blonde and prone to wearing tops that expose just a little bit of midriff) and although it’s nothing serious, they’ve had a bit of a snog in an unused classroom at break.

“I swear to God, I had my hand halfway up her top and the bloody bell rung! Talk about shit timing.”

Mike shakes his head when Jamie asks “and you, mate? Anything to report?”

“Nothing you haven’t already heard.” Mike has the dubious honor of having been the first of the four to get laid. Jamie insists it’s the fact he plays guitar. These days, however, Jamie sees far more action than he does, what with having a proper girlfriend.

There’s a girl in the year below who keeps looking at him during form registration, and she’s pretty enough, and the thought of doing anything about it is just… more effort than he can be bothered to put in at the moment.

“What about you, then, Ebbers?” Jamie jostles Ben with his shoulder. “Celibate as ever?”

Ben _blushes_. He looks down at his beer and goes bright pink along his cheeks and down his neck.

“Ebbers!” Barry crows. “You didn’t! Go on then, who was it?”

“Er. Someone from work.” Ben’s voice is small.

“You dog! Getting off with one of the waitresses, I bet.” Barry is jubilant and Jamie is laughing, and they both miss Ben’s minute flinch.

“No, it’s- the bartender, actually. His name is Alex.” Ben hasn’t looked up from his beer. His hands are clenched tight around it, knuckles white as the table falls silent in light of this sudden confession.

_Someone needs to say something_ , Mike thinks, and says nothing. He wants to say the right thing, to let Ben know that it doesn’t matter. They love him anyway. The words refuse to come out of his mouth.

It’s Jamie who comes to the rescue. He’s always been better with expressing himself.

“Ebbers, it’s okay. You know we don’t care if you’re- whoever you like, it’s alright. It’s not gonna change anything.”

“Yeah,” follows Baz, earnest in a way he seldom is sober, “it’s fine, mate. You’re still our friend.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling us.” Mike says, and it feels so weak in comparison, but all the good words have been taken. He claps Ben on the shoulder to make up for it, and doesn’t move his hand away. He keeps it there, rubbing his thumb over the thin fabric of Ben’s t-shirt. Ben’s hands are trembling around his beer, and Mike wants to grab them and hold them until they stop. He wants to take the fear away.

He takes another drink instead, and conversation resumes.

* * *

At Katherine Miller’s End of School Prom after-party, Ben gets absolutely _wasted_. Mike finds him down the bottom of the garden when everyone else has already gone in, even the smokers. It’s raining, and Ben is throwing up into a flower bed. They might be petunias.

“Alex dumped me,” he slurs, slumped half onto Mike and half into a bush. “His fucken’- fucking _girlfriend_ came back from uni in Scotland. They’re moving in together.” He heaves again, turning his head, but nothing comes out.

“Mate, I’m so sorry,” Mike says, gently, rubbing his back.

“I really liked him.” Ben moans, pitiful, heartbroken. “Mike, I think I loved him.”

If some of Ben’s retching sounds like crying, well, Mike’s not going to tell anyone.

* * *

Ben returns from university at twenty-two different to when he left. He’s secured himself a job in a proper professional hotel kitchen, and when he’s not pulling fourteen hour shifts, he’s working on recipes and filming them in kitchens that Barry has managed to beg, borrow and steal, and Mike gets roped in as a warm body for the vids.

His cheeks have hollowed out, and the same comfy hoodies he wore at school are threadbare on the cuffs and hanging from his shoulders. Mike films a video, and when Ben twists to put something in the oven, the baggy black chef’s jacket twists with him to show the narrowness of his waist and an almost concave stomach. He has dark smudges under his eyes that Baz nags him to cover up with a little bit of concealer ( _“at least while you’re on camera, Ebbers. Honestly, all the guys on telly wear it”_ ) and he throws back mug after mug of whatever coffee is available in their borrowed kitchens. His hands tremble when he pours.

“Mate, not to be your mother, but when was the last time you had a proper meal?” Jamie asks, brow furrowed, as Mike packs away the camera.

“Just now,” Ben laughs, and takes the last forkful of the risotto he’s just made. “You only get half an hour at work, and there’s always something that needs doing.” He shrugs, and whisks the plate away to the sink.

But the biggest change of all is that Ben has a _boyfriend_. An honest to god, proper boyfriend. It’s been three months already, apparently. He was part of the catering staff at a wedding Ben worked.

“Dan asked me to move in,” Ben tells them over drinks after filming wraps, smiling into his gin and tonic.

“Bit soon, isn’t it? You haven’t been together very long.” It sounds more acerbic than he’d expected, almost condescending. Jamie shoots him a look of warning. _Be nice_ , it seems to say, and Mike feels chastened because who is he to stand in the way of Ben’s happiness? Ben is kind, and helpful, and so fucking smart it’s intimidating. He deserves someone who values all of those things, and if this Dan guy knows a good thing when he sees it and wants to lock it down, well, Mike can’t exactly blame him for that.

* * *

Two weeks later, Mike sees purple and blue smudges in a curved line on Ben’s upper arm when he’s changing into his chef’s jacket to film.

“Ben, are those bruises on your arm?” Barry has noticed them too. Ben finishes buttoning his jacket, and doesn’t make eye contact.

“Dan and I had- a disagreement. I was being a prat.” The words sound carefully chosen, and do nothing to calm the sudden rush of blood pounding in Mike’s ears. Ben’s boyfriend left those marks on him.

“And he hurt you?” Barry’s voice is high pitched, panicky.

“No, he didn’t hurt me!” Ben is defensive now. “He just wanted to stop me storming off, so we could talk like adults. Can we go film?”

“Mate, if Lucy and I were having an argument and I did that-“ Jamie stands up from his desk and takes a step towards Ben. His hands are up, placating, voice gentle.

“It’s different! I’m not a girl, it’s not as though he has to be careful with me. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Did _Dan_ tell you that?” Mike is shocked by the venom in his own voice, and immediately regrets it when Ben takes a step back, away from him.

“Look, guys, let’s all take a moment, yeah?” Jamie has stepped in. He’s good at this. Taking control of a situation and diffusing it. He stopped more than a few fights at school. “Ben, why don’t you go set up the prep you need for the video. Mike, Baz… Let’s go get some fresh air.”

Ben is out of the door and into the kitchen in under five seconds, like he couldn’t wait to escape the conversation. Escape them.

( _“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Jamie says, when they’re outside. “But you know what Ben’s like, if he thinks he’s right, he digs his heels in. Besides, it could genuinely be that he didn’t realise how much strength he was using. We don’t know, so calm the fuck down and we can all get on with our day.”)_

* * *

It’s only one month later that Ben comes in with a ring of bruises around his left wrist that he has to wear a long sleeved shirt to cover for camera.

“I broke up with Dan,” he says, weary, pre-empting Mike’s horrified intake of breath. “He wasn’t happy about it. I’m moving back in with my parents while I look for a place.”

Mike can’t think of the right way to put his feelings into words. He’s sad, and angry, and relieved, and one hundred other things he can’t name. He pulls Ben in for a hug instead of trying, and strokes an arm down his back.

“You deserve so much better,” he says. Ben rests his forehead against Mike’s shoulder and says nothing. There’s a few moments of peace, with Ben braced against him, and his physical weight is reassuring. _Ben is here. He’s safe. He’s going to be okay._

And then Ben is pulling away and diving back into the kitchen.

* * *

Ben at twenty-seven is just as punctual as Ben at twenty-two, which is why it’s borderline alarming when Mike gets into the studio (late, always late) and Ben isn’t there.

“Maybe he got stuck underground and there’s no signal so he can’t message us?” Barry suggests.

It’s almost eleven when Ben rolls into the studio, jacket and scarf swallowing him from hip to chin against the blustering cold outside.

“I’m sorry, sorry, everyone.” It’s the same torrent of apologies they’d get if he was twenty minutes late, but it’s been two hours. His hands shake when he unbuttons his coat, and when he shrugs it off the scarf follows.

James audibly gasps, hands flying up to cover his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. Ben immediately goes to retrieve his scarf but it’s too late, James’ obvious distress has alerted them all, and they all look towards the source.

Ben’s neck is mottled with a dark ring of bruises, with red marks scratched down from his jaw and disappearing under the collar of his jumper.

“ _Ben_ ,” Jamie starts, and stops short. Mike can’t imagine how to finish the sentence. It’s nothing like the occasional hickey that Barry has to cover up with concealer or a polo neck. It looks vicious and violent and painful. He wants to ask Ben if he’s okay, but the answer is so, so obviously ‘no’.

“I didn’t have any polo necks,” Ben says into the cavernous silence of the room. The way his voice rises suggests that he was aiming for levity, but it falls flat. Nobody says anything.

“Were you attacked?” Barry asks, shaky. He’s gone pale and he’s twisting the cuffs of his jumper in his fists.

“No, I’m alright. Can we do this later? I know I’ve thrown off the filming schedule by being late, I’m sorry. James, you might have to step in until I can cover this.” It’s like nothing happened. He’s jumped right back into schedule management and deadlines, and Mike hates it because he can see that Ben’s hands are still trembling and the line of his back is stiff.

“Yeah, of course, mate,” James says, and Mike could honestly kiss him for the way that some of the tension drains from Ben’s body. James has always known when to back off and not push, valuing discretion and privacy as much as he does the intimacy of shared secrets, and right now that's worth its bloody weight in gold.

“Thanks.” Ben smiles, and it’s weak, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

* * *

“I went to a friend of a friend’s house for dinner- well. A date.” Ben tells them later, sheepish, cradling a cup of strong coffee. “I should have known better than to go over but Emily set us up so I thought- It was stupid of me, really. It went okay but then he didn’t want me to leave and when I tried to…” He gestures to his neck. “Anyway, I went to A&E and that’s why I was so late. I was sitting in the waiting room from eleven last night until eight this morning.”

“You can’t blame yourself, mate.” Jamie frowns. Ben just shrugs, and redirects his attention

“Baz, do you think Hayley would be able to cover this if she’s free tomorrow?”

“I don’t think she’s got anyone booked. I’ll ask tonight, though.”

“Great, otherwise we’ll have to do hand only shots and the audience doesn’t like those.”

_Fuck how we have to film this_ , Mike wants to shout, _are you okay? What did he do to you? How can you be so calm?_

He knows how. When he’s under pressure, Ben becomes more _Ben_. He takes refuge in order and structure. It would have killed him, being late that morning. To not be able to wake up and get dressed and head in like normal, thermos in hand, pretending that today was another day just like any other.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says instead, because feeble reassurance is all he feels capable of without making it worse. “Don’t worry about that.”

He reaches out and squeezes Ben’s hand. Ben squeezes back.

* * *

Ben at thirty-two has grown into something none of them could have predicted when they met almost twenty years ago. He’s still a complete geeky know it all, but he’s become confident and poised and funny in a way that nobody would have guessed from looking at him at thirteen, and above all – he’s pretty good looking. There’s a strength in the width of his shoulders and arms that comes from years of beating egg and kneading pastry that can only really be seen on the rare occasion that he’s out of a chef’s jacket and in a fitted jumper or t-shirt. His cheeks flush when he laughs, and he has the biggest, brownest fucking eyes that Mike has ever seen.

They’re at the pub, brainstorming, because that’s where all their best ideas come from. Jamie has begged off because Lucy is working late and he needs to be home to watch the kids, and Barry has a date night scheduled that they’d brought a sitter in for. James has absconded to a guided yoga and meditation class that he paid too much money for (‘ _pretentious or not’_ , Jamie had said, after pretending to throw up, ‘ _you decide’)_ so it’s just the two of them.

There’s a man at the bar who keeps looking at Ben, smirking, and Ben keeps looking back. He’s trying to be subtle about it, and failing. And Mike- he tries not to judge people on sight, he really does, but this guy just _looks_ like a prick.

“I’ll get the next round, shall I?” Ben asks, getting to his feet, but he’s pink cheeked and his eyes dart over to where Douchebag is standing, and Mike can’t take it anymore. Almost without permission, his hand shoots out to grab Ben’s wrist, fingers circling and enclosing. Ben looks down, startled.

“Don’t,” Mike says, voice low. “Sit down. Please?” Ben sits, and Mike doesn’t let go. His heart is pounding in his chest.

“Mike, what-“

“Don’t speak to him.” A flush rises up Ben’s neck and his throat.

“It’s none of your business who I do or don’t speak to, Mike.” Ben is embarrassed at having been caught so obviously interested, and stilted in his anger at being told what to do, and beautiful in his indignation. His eyes are bright behind his glasses.

Mike screws up his courage, tugs Ben forward by the wrist and kisses him.

It’s nothing more than a press of mouth to mouth, and it lasts several awkward seconds before Mike pulls back because Ben isn’t moving. Isn’t even breathing. Fuck, he’s fucked this up, he’s fucked everything up. He let’s go of Ben’s wrist, and watches as Ben press trembling fingers to his mouth.

“I don’t understand,” he says. He sounds lost. “Mike, why-“

“You have shitty taste in guys,” Mike blurts out. And alright, it’s true, but that isn’t where he wanted to start. He goes with it, though. “You go on dates and we all worry because these guys are never good for you.”

“So you’re trying to, what, distract me?” Ben laughs, and it sounds slightly hysterical. “I appreciate you’re worried but I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions.”

“No, Ben, that’s not- I want to be the one who does right by you, okay? It’s been fucking _years_ , worrying about you whenever you started seeing someone or even went on a bloody date and it took me a while to get here but I’ve realized that if you are going to be with someone, I feel like it should be me, alright? I want it to be me.” His heart is still racing. “And I’m sorry, I know that sounds a bit possessive, and I don’t want to sound like a dick, but that’s kind of how I feel about you.”

“Oh.” Ben says softly. His fingers are still pressing against his lower lip. “Mike, that’s not a good idea. I’m not good at relationships, you know that. I’ll say the wrong thing and piss you off or I’ll let you down. You won’t want me anymore and it will ruin what we have already.”

“That’s not true!” Mike implores. “Ebbers, you’ve never been anything but amazing, you’ve just not been with people who appreciate you. None of what they did is your fault.”

“I’m sarcastic and I can’t resist correcting people and I work too much.” Ben is almost pleading. “And that’s not even getting started on the fact that you could do _so much better_ than me. Mike, you’re gorgeous, and I’m-“

Mike can’t listen to Ben put himself down anymore. It hurts to hear. He reaches out again and presses his mouth against Ben’s. Ben is tense for a few long, aching seconds, but then he relaxes by degrees, sighing into Mike’s mouth and shuddering when Mike strokes a thumb down the nape of his neck.

“I already like you.” Mike presses his forehead against Ben’s. “I’ve seen you at your worst and you’ve seen me at mine and we’ve argued and I still want you. You’re not going to scare me off.” And then, because Ben is breathing hard and looks like he might cry at any second, Mike reaches out to lace their fingers together.

“Can I take you home with me? I’ll be good to you, I promise.” He’s laying it on thick, but it makes Ben laugh, and he squeezes Mike’s hand.

“Yes, alright then. Take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title changed from from 'The Price You Pay' (which I wasn't happy with) to 'Does Anyone Ever Get This Right' - a line from 'The Vampyre of Time and Memories' by Queens of The Stone Age, which I think is more fitting.


End file.
